To Dismiss with Prejudice

By Teresa A. Lynn

Eugenie Escousse is a thirty-nine year old married career woman and her biological clock is ticking. For the past year she has undergone monthly donor inseminations, fertility medications, lab tests, and surgeryall with negative pregnancy results.
Tyler Tanner is the owner of the Shreveport Fertility Institute located in downtown Shreveport. She provides doctors with donor sperm for their patients. Tyler is proud of her fertility institute, but she is a woman haunted by her past. Her violent reaction to men lead to murder.
Detective Bo Hache of the Shreveport Police Department is busy investigating drive-by shootings and drug dealersuntil someone starts murdering pregnant women.
Retired police chief Bubba Nelson, an old man born during the time of extreme racism, hires out to the elite as a private investigator, shadowing blackmailers and keeping safe family secrets. Bubba Nelson and Detective Hache butt heads as they become tangled in each others investigations, which will lead to the murderer of the pregnant women.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 1, 2002
• ISBN: 9780759651197

Teresa A. Lynn

Teresa A. Lynn has worked as a legal assistant with various law firms in Shreveport, Louisiana, for fifteen years. She had previously published a feature story about “Tom Murrell, Horseman” in River Cities Magazine, small articles in a local newspaper publication entitled The Newspaper, articles for Louisiana State University of Shreveport’s student-weekly newspaper The Almagest, and pitched ideas for Southern Horsemen Magazine. She has had the pleasure of speaking with Caddo Parish elementary students on the personal rewards of creative writing. Teresa now makes her home with her husband, James, along the banks of the Mississippi River. She is busy doing research for her next novel, and enjoys helping her husband run their boat manufacturing business. In her spare time she attends Mississippi College to keep abreast with current events.

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PROLOGUE

September 13, 1995, Wednesday, 5:00 a.m.

Dawn broke through the aftermath of the thunderstorm, pushing back night shadows. The drip, dripping sound of trickling water slid down broken gutter pipes to land with bullet-like precision on eroding masonry. The warm kiss of the morning sun no longer roused the woman who lay among broken bottles and discarded trash in the back alley of Shreve Square. Puddles were forming, rippling with blood, reflecting the frozen terror on the dead woman’s face.

A young police officer moved his flashlight about the alley. He passed the light over the early morning shadows, cautiously, as if the killer could still be hiding somewhere close by, watching.

The woman’s long black hair lay plastered against her enlarged milky white breasts. Her right arm was flung across the upper portion of her face as if to shield herself from the horror of the deadly blade which had ripped her belly open.

The officer was finding it hard to swallow. The unborn child could be seen by one of the gaping wounds, birth sack torn opened. The tiny dark head was exposed to the elements.

The officer looked away from the horror, but morbid curiosity drew him back.

One of the victim’s legs was twisted beneath her, a knee bone protruding from of her torn flesh.

Bright pink and blue wrapped presents with the words ‘baby shower’ printed on wrapping paper lay scattered at her feet.

A red pump shoe dangled from her big toe. The shoe’s mate was missing.

A smear of pink lipstick gave a touch of color to her bloodless lips. A hint of blush still enhanced the natural upward curve of her cheekbones, despite the ghastly pallor of her once beautiful face.

A raindrop moistening her right blue eye, rolled down her cheek to nestle in the corner of her mouth. The officer crouched next to her and, reaching out, caught the drop with the tip of his finger. He avoided looking at her stomach, concentrating on this drop of rain which felt as cold as the touch of her skin.

Revulsion set in as the young officer realized that this was no television crime show where the scene could only be viewed through a tube by its audience, whose reaction would be one of visual distaste. No, this was a real crime scene and he could not ignore the stench of blood that he was inhaling or the body waste that he was stepping in. He felt a queer sensation at the pit of his stomach.

You okay, kid? said his senior partner as he walked up to him.

Yeah, sure. He gulped back burning acid and stumbled toward the patrol car, dropping his flashlight, listening to the clattering echo as he vomited his morning breakfast into a bloodied water puddle. The senior partner handed him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth.

First dead body?

Still unable to get himself under control, he could only nod.

It’s all right, kid, no one ever gets used to it.

He was given a gentle slap on the back before his senior partner turned to unlock the trunk of the patrol car.

As soon as the young officer was able, he helped position orange poles, with flat bases, along the east and west ends of the alley. They ran a long string of orange tape from pole to pole to seal off the area so evidence would not be trampled on or picked up by curious by-standers.

Sirens could be heard from the distance as patrol cars drove down the alley toward the silently waiting officers. The new arrivals were the I.D. team, the deputy coroner, a homicide detective, and the news media. All but the news media were allowed within the taped off area. The tortured woman would be spared one less form of humiliation.

Flashes of lights recorded her dead body on film. She was measured, outlined with white chalk and examined by the deputy coroner, who pronounced her and the baby dead at the scene. The deputy coroner handed the detective in charge the death slips. The I.D. team explored the area. They checked inside boxes, turned over boards, and emptied bottle contents into lab containers for possible evidence. The area was photographed and measured to record precise distances of all objects within the crime scene in relation to the body.

Her staring blue eyes gazed upon the outside world for the last time as she and her baby were zipped in a large plastic body bag. With gentle hands, the young officer helped lift her body onto the stretcher. She was wheeled by the deputy coroner to the waiting interior of his van.

The news media rushed forward carelessly splashing water on one another. The young officer and his senior partner held them at bay, but they were unable to stop the battery of flashbulbs exploding blue-red lights over her shroud as the tailgate door of her black, windowless coffin slammed shut.

* * * *

September 13, 1995, Wednesday, 5:00 a.m.

Eugenie Escousse awoke from a deep sleep, her bladder throbbing. She rolled onto her right side to ease the pressure. Raising her head from the warmth of her pillow, she eyed the digital clock: five o’clock. If she could only hold it, and not think of peeing, she might make it another hour.

The Basal Thermometer was next to the clock, her temperature chart and pen were next to the thermometer, and a plastic cup was resting on the toilet tank in the bathroom so she could fill it with her first morning urine. The morning routine had been going on for months. She had to take her temperature approximately the same time every morning before she got out of bed so that the chart would be accurate, depicting her ovulation cycle. She had to start testing her urine a couple of days before ovulation. If she got up earlier than usual and went to the bathroom, she was out of luck in testing that first urine, which a couple of hours later, would be less concentrated.

Eugenie, go back to sleep, let the warm covers and quilt help drift you off to dreamland again. Only fifty-five more minutes to go.

Suddenly a cold draft went up her legs, under her nightgown, shocking her out of her warm slumber. Henri grunted as he got out of bed and walked into the bathroom. She heard him peeing into the toilet bowl.

The sound of the toilet flushing brought Henri back to bed, pulling the covers over his head. He promptly placed his cold feet against her legs, dropping back off to sleep.

The cold air and his bare feet were her undoing. She quickly reached for the thermometer, popped it into her mouth and counted five minutes on the clock. Lord, let the minutes pass quickly. She crossed her legs, holding back the flow of urine that was starting to soak her panty. The digital clock numbers were blinking 5:06, 5:07, 5:08, 5:09, 5:10, 5:11—she pulled the thermometer out of her mouth, laid it next to the clock and painfully climbed out of bed. She had to pee so bad, she wasn’t sure if she could pee. Eugenie grabbed the door frame and pushed off toward the bathroom. She flipped on the light, closed the door. The urine cup was still on the toilet tank. She yanked off her panty, sat on the toilet seat, grabbed the cup and pushed the plastic between her legs. She bent forward a little so that the urine would go into the cup. She willed herself to relax, a second at a time: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, ahhhhh. The urine splashed into the cup so hard, Eugenie tightened her hold. The cup filled faster than she was able to momentarily stop peeing to remove it, getting her fingers wet. The urine warmed her fingers as she yanked a few sheets of toilet paper from the roll and wrapped it around the wet cup then placing it on the bathroom counter. Letting her bladder empty, she sat there almost falling back to sleep.

She flushed the toilet, washed her hands then carried the cup into the guest bedroom where she kept the ‘Ovu Quick’ ovulation predictor test kit. She retrieved the kit from its hiding place and went into the dining room. Pulling a floor lamp over to the table, she turned the light on. Her eyes blurred for a second then cleared as she tried to wake up. She would test the urine now before going back to bed. She knew the urine could stand at room temperature for two hours and she would still be able to perform the test, but she might not wake up in time and the sample would be ruined.

The ‘Ovu Quick’ was easy to use. She pulled out the plastic box containing four plastic bottles labeled A, B, C, and D. There had been another bottle labeled No. 1 containing reconstitution buffer liquid, but in following the test kit’s instructions, she had emptied it into the glass bottle labeled B containing white powder-enzyme conjugate; throwing the empty bottle No. 1 into the trash can. She arranged the bottles in order from A to D on the table, then placed the warm urine cup to her right. She removed one aluminum foil pouch containing the test pad from the box. The test pad had the words ‘reference spot’ at the top and ‘test result’ at the bottom of the pad. Between the words ‘reference spot’ and ‘test result’ was a cut out circle padded with layers of white sponge-like material. From an eye dropper Eugenie dropped six drops of her urine onto the test pad, three drops at a time, letting the pad absorb the liquid. She unscrewed the top of bottle A, containing liquid buffer, and dropped three drops on the pad, again letting the pad absorb the liquid. She capped bottle A and proceeded with bottle B. Using its eye dropper she squeezed six drops of the enzyme conjugate onto the pad, three drops at a time. She quickly looked up at the dining room wall clock which had a seconds’ hand, counting down sixty seconds. She unscrewed bottle C, containing substrate liquid, and dropped six drops onto the pad, quickly glancing at the clock, counting three minutes. She began to see the ‘reference spot’ produce a circle of blue color that was getting darker against the field of white. She looked down and noticed the ‘test result’ showing a circle of a lighter shade of blue. At three minutes exactly, she dropped six drops of bottle D, containing stop solution liquid, onto the pad to stop the test. The ‘test result’ had darken and was now the same shade of blue as the ‘reference spot’. The presence of LH (the luteinizing hormone) was in her urine. She should ovulate within thirty-six hours. She would call her doctor as soon as she arrived at work later that morning and let him know that she was ready for her usual monthly insemination of donor semen.

DAY ONE

Wednesday

First Insemination

CHAPTER ONE

September 13, 1995

Take everything off from your waist down, Mrs. Escousse, Dr. Holland’s nurse said. Doctor’ll be with you in a moment. She handed Eugenie a paper drape sheet and left the room.

In a moment. What an indefinite term. An important combination of words—in a moment. Doctors’ livelihoods depended upon patients’ lenient acceptance of those carelessly tossed out—in a moments. It was as if they had a patent on the phrase under the heading: for professional use only.

Eugenie kicked off her stone-washed jeans and pink lacy panty and folded them neatly across the chair in the dressing room, shivering, her bare feet touching the tile floor. Her body did not look too bad for thirty-nine, she thought as she looked at herself in the full length mirror, twisting and turning her body for the best possible angle. Although, it would not hurt to put in a few hours of bicycling to help firm up her hips and eliminate those tell-tale dimples on her buttocks. She continued to observe, with usual disappointment, the short length of her legs. If God had confided in her, she would have demanded longer legs. It’s hard to look graceful in boot-cut jeans when she was just shy of five feet two. A shiver went through her. Damn, it was freezing in this cubical of a room. Going from a September steambath to an icebox of an examination room was a difficult adjustment to make.

She detested the next part of the ritual that was yet to come, the exposure. No matter how many times she had been examined in the past, it was humiliating to have someone look at her most private possession. In reading articles and books on early medical practices, Eugenie could cheer the pioneer woman’s refusal on removing her clothes for an examination, preferring some form of tonic for what ailed her.

Eugenie wrapped the wine colored paper sheet around her bare bottom and tried to gracefully wiggle her short frame up on the examination table between those god-awful stirrups. She relaxed on her back with her knees up, feet resting at the end of the table as she waited on Dr. Holland. The gleaming cold steel stirrups always reminded her of robot arms waiting to attack when least expected. Someone had the clever idea of covering the stirrups with white socks, as if eliminating the expected shock of cold steel would somehow make the rest of the examination tolerable. No amount of camouflage or niceties could relieve the discomfort of having your legs spread wide. And if that wasn’t enough, having a metal instrument plunged into your vagina which thus opened the interior as wide as the expansion of your legs, an exaggeration perhaps, but it felt that way sometimes. Goose bumps began popping out all over her blue body, just thinking about it.

Dr. Holland tapped on the door, his way of announcing himself, then strolled in before she could answer.

Good morning, Mrs. Escousse. His stout, low to the ground build, was perfect for his chosen profession. She adored the wisps of white hair which barely covered his balding head and, in past examinations, she often had trouble suppressing a giggle when she observed his shiny pink head down between her legs.

Good morning, Eugenie answered, watching Dr. Holland wash his hands and pat them dry before tugging on rubber gloves. My, but what large hairy fingers you’ve got, Dr. Holland, she thought with a crazy laugh she kept bottled up inside her. She felt the muscles of her vagina tightening as she wondered how he always managed to overcome her natural resistance and enter her small, dry opening with those cold steel instruments? Tons of KY Jelly, that’s how, stupid, she giggled to herself. Get a grip, Eugenie, you’re getting wackier by the minute with these crazy thoughts.

Dr. Holland’s nurse, Kay, came in and threw Eugenie a reassuring smile. She handed a chart to Dr. Holland.

Dr. Holland seated himself on a short stool, positioning himself between her open legs. He snapped on a floor-lamp and pointed the light so that it would shine between her legs. She felt the immediate warming of her inner thighs. Kay, the semen ready?

Yes, sir, it’s there on the counter. Kay indicated toward a three inch glass vial containing pink liquid.

Kay, let’s get set up here, his gruff voice was commanding, but not condescending.

Kay walked to the counter and opened one of several wide drawers and began laying instruments and sealed packages on a shiny steel tray.

Eugenie lay quietly on the examination table, digging her heels firmly into the sock covered stirrups.

Kay wheeled the tray toward Dr. Holland’s left elbow. She handed him the vial containing the semen. Eugenie had had to ordered donor semen regularly since beginning the inseminations. She had tried matching the donor’s characteristics with her husband’s dark brown hair, medium build, blue eyes, B-blood type, and Indian-Irish ancestry.

Luckily for her, Shreveport had its own fertility institute which had opened a couple of years ago. She had been able to visit the institute and speak with its owner regarding the risk factors of inseminating with donor semen. The owner’s explanation of the care and testing that went into selecting a donor erased any doubts that she might have had with this procedure. Eugenie roused herself from her thoughts as she became aware of Dr. Holland speaking.

Eugenie, here we go.

She heard a click, felt the end of the table rising, lifting her buttocks. She felt him slip his hands underneath her buttocks and slide her further toward him on the table. His pink head disappeared behind the paper sheet which covered her below the waist.

I’m sorry to see that Henri couldn’t make it this time, Dr. Holland’s voice was muffled behind the paper sheet.

So, I am, Eugenie swallowed the disappointment. Over the years, Henri tried to make as many of the doctor visits with her as his work allowed him. Today he had hurried out of the house to meet the owners of a large tract of land along the banks of the River. The owners were considering the erection of a biking trail.

The sheet began sagging between the wide spread of her legs, allowing Eugenie to see Dr. Holland as he was about to place a speculum inside her and she immediately experienced pressure as he opened the speculum inside her vagina. She took a deep breath counting to ten and tried to relax.

Look at this, Eugenie, He held up a set of forceps for her inspection. He opened the forceps, spreading them apart so that Eugenie could see a stringy glistening, mucus substance. It was stretching from one forceps prong to the other like a worn out rubberband threatening to snap. Look at the elasticity of your mucus. He closed and reopened the forceps for another demonstration, as if she doubted him. Good sign, you’re ovulating. He dropped the forceps on the nearby tray and reached for the vial containing the semen.

On this vial the label reads number ‘605’ for IUI insemination, white cap, he said, extending the tube so that she could verify the information contained on the vial.

She nodded, confirming the donor number, the IUI process, and the white cap, then she looked up at the ceiling, waiting. The label on the vial was important, white cap indicating a causation donor, and ‘605’ being the number of the donor she had selected for her IUI or intrauterine insemination. Dr. Holland had told her that considering her age, IUI insemination guaranteed a higher percentage of sperm reaching the egg. He had said by depositing the semen into the vagina, sperm would have to go through hair-like openings of the cervix to get inside the uterus and would lessen her chances of conceiving. Hell, it had been almost three years and she still had not conceived. Last month he had suggested changing her donor for the second time. He said usually after six months and no pregnancy, a change of donor could help. Last month she had stopped ordering number ‘501’, and began ordering number ‘605’ instead. The donor characteristics were the same except this donor had straight hair, Henri had wavy.

The sperm count after thawing was a little lower than I’d like, Mrs. Escousse, only 8 million, he said. Like to get around 12 million.

Should I try another donor? she said, suddenly feeling depressed.

Maybe, but for now, I think it a good idea to get you in here tomorrow morning and inseminate again. If the sperm count is the same or lower, I would recommend another donor, he said. Ask the bank for the sperm count before freezing, it’ll give you a better idea as to how many will survive after thawing. Don’t forget, it only takes 3 million sperm inside the uterus to get pregnant, his tone reassuring.

I remember, disheartened. I’ll ask about the sperm count next time, she said. Eugenie ordered the semen, but the fertility institute shipped it directly to Dr. Holland’s office.

Now, let’s not be negative, he said, taking the syringe and plunged the needle into the end of the tube of semen, drawing in the pink fluid. We have enough here to do the job.

Sure, she said with tears in her eyes. This insemination was probably a waste of time and money.

Okay, I’m inserting the catheter, let me know if you feel any cramping, he said, positioning the catheter.

She felt a tightening of her stomach muscles followed by the usual cramping: I’m cramping as he inserted the tube into the uterus.

Should ease up momentarily, he said, inserting the needle into the thin plastic tube of the catheter, depositing the semen inside her uterus. Semen going in nicely.

The cramps lessened slowly. Semen was now inside her, millions of sperm were rushing, she hoped, in search of her egg. Please let one of them be successful. A tear rolled down her cheek. I’m so tired of waiting. Dr. Holland had commented on one occasion that sperm were known to swim in circles instead of searching out the egg, dying without ever leaving the uterus. The whole procedure, month to month, was a matter of luck, never a certainty.

Okay, that does it, all the semen went in, none leaked out. Good thing or I’d have had to pack you again. Dr. Holland removed the speculum by turning it slowly as he eased it out.

One month he had had to insert a sponge-like package wrapped in plastic into her vagina, up against her cervix, to stop any back flow of semen. The package was uncomfortable, but it did not hurt. Strings hung out the opening of her vagina so that she could remove the pack a couple of hours later. It had been a weird experience, somewhat like pulling a plug on a sink full of water.

Dr. Holland threw the speculum into a tub at his feet. He snapped off the rubber gloves and tossed them into a red trash can. He turned off the lamp and lifted her feet from the stirrups, placing them gently on the solid flat extension of the examination table. He pushed her knees together as he moved from between her legs. Lie just so for ten minutes. Come in tomorrow morning and I’ll inseminate again. He patted her arm and Eugenie nodded, too overcome by her emotions to speak. Oh, and I’ll call in to the pharmacy to refill your progesterone suppositories, he said as an after thought. She would begin to insert the suppositories inside her vagina two days after the last insemination to increase the chance of pregnancy. It was like having a continual period each month. She used tampons when she bled during a regular menstruation and after monthly inseminations.

As she lay there waiting for the cramping to stop and the semen to flow back into her uterus, Eugenie found herself thinking about a discussion she had had with a co-worker, Betty Roy, law clerk to Judge Savannah, about her inseminations. Judge Savannah’s wife, Nikki, had eavesdropped on their conversation. Eugenie observed the disapproval on

Mrs. Savannah’s face. Eugenie thought Mrs. Savannah would say something to her, ridicule her choice, but Nikki Savannah had turned her back on both of them, leaving the office, slamming the door behind her. Eugenie had to learn to ignore that kind of prejudice in the future. But it still bothered her that some people accepted adoption over donor insemination. At least, this way, the child had one biological parent.

Judge Savannah had been generous in letting Eugenie take off from work to try to conceive. Working with Judge Savannah for the last fifteen years as his legal secretary turned out to be a blessing for her and her husband.

Eugenie wished Henri could be here for the insemination today. Running your own construction business left little time for Henri to leave a job and sit with her in the doctor’s office. She heaved a huge sigh.

Maybe after she gave birth, they could settle down to a more quieter life.

* * * *

The drive to work did not seem as hot or nerve racking as when Eugenie had left home for the insemination. She felt a bit uncomfortable in wearing a damp panty. She had forgotten to wear a panty shield to absorb leakage.